Shanna

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Have your little toss in the hay!” she railed in a voice that could have frozen a flooding tide. “Enjoy yourselves first hand!”

  She whirled toward the stall and, as Ruark struggled against the tangle of straps, threw open the gate. Milly began to fight the willful web of harnesses and only engulfed them both all the more. Shanna seized the rope bridle of Jezebel and dragged the animal from the stall. Then grasping a handful of mane, she flung herself astride. With thumping heels she drove the mare through the open stable door.

  “Dammit, Shanna, stop!” Ruark bellowed.

  Horse and rider cleared the pasture gate as if the steed had wings, and they were gone in the dark.

  Ruark struggled to fling the harnesses from him, but Milly’s writhing defeated him. He snarled through gritted teeth.

  “Hold still, damn you.”

  Milly froze. “I was only funning,” she wailed, suddenly afraid of his wrath.

  Ruark’s only reply was an inarticulate growl. Finally he freed himself and running full tilt for the door collided with the stableboy Elot who, rubbing his eyes, had chosen that moment to emerge from the tack room.

  The stunned lad struggled to a sitting position from the floor of the stable where he had been knocked and managed, “Wha—”

  “Go back to bed!” The words fairly lashed him with their force, and Ruark fled, leaving Elot to stare with amazement at the young girl who seemed to be trying to wear several harnesses at the same time. Mumbling something about nightmares, Elot stumbled back to his cot where he would rise with the morning and wonder at the soreness and bruises that mysteriously afflicted him.

  Milly gave an exasperated groan as she tried to free herself from the tangle of straps. She froze as a dark shadow towered over her. Fearfully she raised her gaze.

  “Lor’, gov’na,” she sighed in relief. “Ye gave me a start, ye did. I thought it mighta been Mister Ruark returning.”

  A black-gloved hand reached down and lifted the harnesses from her, hanging them on the pegs from which they had been hurled. The black cape swirled, displaying a tall, thin figure as the man knelt to help Milly to her feet. She leaned against him, her ebony eyes smiling coyly into his, and rubbed his shirted chest familiarly with her hand.

  “I said what ye told me,” she murmured, peering up into his narrow face. She could see his smile broaden, though his features were shadowed by his tricorn. “But why’d ye push me? I nearly broke me bloomin’ arse, tumblin’ like that.” She paused and grinned knowingly. “Would’ve ruined yer fun if I had. Aye, that’s the truth.”

  The man only nodded then assisted her to the ladder, helping her up into the loft again, there to continue with whatever had occupied them before Ruark’s coming.

  Chapter 14

  SHANNA FLUNG HERSELF DOWN from the mare’s back and raced up the front steps of the manor. If Ruark came after her, no locked door would bar his entry. Indeed, she wouldn’t put it past him to create a scene right beneath the nose of her father, possibly even demanding to have it all out in the open if she refused him. She must fly before he could catch her. But first to clothe herself. The stable was some distance from the mansion, and Jezebel had crossed the grounds quickly, but Shanna knew she must hurry, for Ruark seemed part savage in some of the feats he accomplished. He was equally swift of mind and foot and had the uncanny ability of appearing almost out of nowhere.

  Shanna’s bare feet scarcely touched the curving stairs as she raced up them, at the same time tearing off her robe. She wasted no time in locking her sitting room door behind her, but ran through to her bedchamber to snatch open the armoire, pulling from it the peasant garb. Tucking her slender feet into a pair of soft hide slippers, she stepped into the skirt and yanked it to her waist under the short shift which she quickly drew over her head, donning in its place the peasant blouse and a shawl for modesty. She belted the garments about her narrow waist with a sash and snatched a dark cloak from her wardrobe before she fled across the balcony, from there dropping to the ground.

  Jezebel stood waiting. Shanna heaved herself again onto the horse’s back and wheeled the animal about to send her flying across the lawn where the thud of hooves would be deadened against the sod.

  Ruark came on a run around the end of the manor just in time to see the two racing off through the trees, too far now to be caught or called to. In deep frustration he ground a curse beneath gnashing teeth and with a much slower pace continued around the mansion, past Shanna’s wing, through the shrubberies surrounding his cottage, and made his way across the wooden planks of the porch. Once within, he poured himself a hearty draught of strong brew and stood staring at the clock in the hall, wondering how long it would be before Shanna ran out her anger and returned.

  Milly’s words had struck a violent note in Shanna, like the high pitch that shatters a crystal piece. The explosion in Shanna’s mind could have fair resembled the eruption of a volcano, and it was not to be quickly cooled, though the first bright burst had dwindled to a constant flow of red molten rage that pressed her onward with no particular destination in mind.

  The vapors began to rise, and the moon, stark and silvery as it shone through a halo of whitened drifts, lent a ghostly eeriness to the island. Shanna rode in the meager light, and where she went she could not say for sure. Her mind was numb. She gave the mare her head, and although not knowing the island, the beast wandered the paths and roads with abandon. Jezebel had been confined to a stall on the deck of a ship for the sea voyage, and at this freedom she stretched her legs out in an exhilarating run. Finding herself at last in a succulent field, she paused to graze a bit. The silent figure on her back sat motionless, sick with an ache that gnawed at her heart.

  Shanna would have denied aloud that her pain should be the result of anything more than a casual regard for Ruark.

  “ ‘Tis just that I almost gave myself to him in the hay like any little strumpet,” she gritted. “And there all along he had that tart Milly waiting in case I should refuse.” Though she was alone, Shanna’s face burned with the scalding memory. “And for all my caution, he would have had his fun with an audience to witness all.”

  Outrage at his duplicity began to sear her, and the ache was forgotten. She sobbed. She cried. She cursed the night and the bastard rake it hid from her sight. The mare echoed the mistress’s unquiet and began to snort and prance. The flare of fury burned out and left the woman hardminded, her warmth unrequited.

  Shanna thumped Jezebel with her heels and obediently the horse began to move. They descended a shallow slope and came out upon the beach, pale of sand and wide with the lowness of the tide. Beyond curled the fluorescent line of breakers that marked the water’s edge. Jezebel waded into the sea and dipped her head for a drink, then snorted at the brackish brine, and danced away in disgust. Shanna crooned a soft word and laid her hand upon the silky neck, rubbing gently. The mare calmed and cantered along, sending jets of spray up with her hooves. Jezebel reveled in the freedom of it all and stretched out again in a run, not pressing but racing easily along the beach, her passing making little sound on the wet sand.

  A late fisherman pulled his dory up from the surf. He quailed in sudden fear, for, from nowhere, a vision appeared and flew at him—a great dark horse making no noise as it came down the white beach, and upon its back a fury out of hell, face death gray in the moonlight and beautiful beyond earthly flesh, pale hair streaming out behind from a black hood. He would swear she rode with no reins to guide the mount or saddle to hold her on its back. Though he mouthed a rosary of “Aves” and fell on his knees, the rider took no notice of him. Instead, sitting erect and proud, she flew silently by as if bound on a dire mission. For months afterwards he would blame all ills that befell him on the visit of this night-born spectre, and in his cups he would bore his companions with endless recountings of his vision.

  The pale lights of the sleeping village ahead stirred Shanna’s mind, and she felt in desperate need of companionship and conversation on her woes.
There was but one person whom she could trust, and she made her decision to seek him out. Entering the village and slowing the horse’s pace, she passed the quiet, dark houses like a wraith. If some unwelcome eye had seen this shadowy apparition pass, he would have been loath to mention it for fear of being thought mad.

  Horse and rider climbed the hill to where Pitney’s whitewashed house perched on the bluff like a lookout scanning the horizon. Here was a haven for Shanna and someone to listen as she gave vent to her troubles. No lights illuminated the windows, but at her urgent rapping a flickering glow of a candle appeared, and a mumbled voice bade her wait a moment. Several lamps were touched with flame before the panel swung wide and Pitney’s huge bulk filled the door. A stocking cap sat askew atop his thinning pate, and breeches had been hastily hitched up over his nightshirt. Stepping aside and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he called for her to enter.

  “Aye, come in, lass,” he rumbled. “What brings you out at this hour?”

  Shanna avoided his gaze as she moved past him. “I had a need to talk, and there was no one else—”

  Her own mind confused, Shanna was hard put to find the beginning of her plight. Restlessly she paced the room and twisted her hands; she opened her mouth to speak but found the ready words empty. Pitney sat on a bench before the cold hearth as he checked his pocket watch against the clock on the wall. It was well past the mid of night and into the wee hours. Stifling a yawn, he rubbed the heel of his hand across bleary eyes and arched his large feet away from the cool stone of the hearth, waiting for her to broach the subject. His attention perked to amazement as Shanna seized the rope at his well and raised his cooling ale jug up. She took the tin cup that hung on the trestle and poured a hearty drink. In alarm Pitney half rose as she slammed the cork back into the jug and pushed it carelessly back into the well. The rope twanged, but no sound of shattering crockery came from the shaft. Much relieved, Pitney sank down again, letting out his breath in a long sigh.

  Watching her closely now, he waited as she sipped daintily from the mug, wrinkling her nose at the bitter brew. The inevitable shudder of revulsion followed. No surprise to Pitney. For her to even taste the stuff was highly out of character, and he surmised her distress was more than a trifling irritation. Grimacing, Shanna thrust the cup out toward him, and Pitney calmly accepted her offering as he continued to contemplate her in some bemusement.

  “ ‘Tis your father again?” he ventured carefully.

  Shanna shook her head and grew more upset with the thought. “ ‘Tis not him. In fact,”—she laughed faintly—“he has released me from any further demands of marriage until I find a husband I would have.” Her brow gathered like a dark storm, and Pitney saw in her frown no good for the one who had provoked her. “ ‘Tis that rogue we dragged from Newgate who haunts me.”

  “Oh,” Pitney shrugged. “Mister Ruark. Or Beauchamp. Whatever. Your husband.”

  “Husband!” Shanna snapped and threw a glare at him. “Do not use that title for that blackguard! I am a widow.” She stressed the word. “You prepared the coffin yourself and witnessed the burial.” Her voice sharpened as she added, “Perhaps if you had taken more care, you might have saved me much suffering.”

  Pitney grew a bit piqued himself. “I explained it all before. I see no need in going through it again.”

  Shanna released a wavering sigh, realizing she would get nowhere blaming him. Her problem as it stood stemmed solely from Ruark.

  She groaned inwardly. Damn him! Damn the strutting peacock! Playing with all the wenches on the island behind her back and then coming and mewling about his monkish life!

  She could not let him remain on Los Camellos, sharing her table, frequenting the manor house where she would be forced to meet that mocking jeer. He had used her; like a bauble on a string he had added her to his collection. How many others on the island were there? An isle of lonely sea captains’ wives and young girls seeking husbands. He must have thought it paradise to find so many willing women, and herself among them. Surely he was rolling with mirth by now, the proud daughter of Orlan Trahern, toppled and tossed by a common slave. She cringed painfully at the thought. The roving stud deserved no more than the fate of a shipwrecked tar on a deserted island. ‘Twould do him good to truly realize the celibate life.

  But how could she implore Pitney to do her bidding? He had denied her once and might well again if she could not convince him that her need was dire.

  “Pitney.” Her tone was soft and plaintively appealing. “You have done much to aid me where I had no right to ask. I did not mean to sound ungrateful. ‘Tis only that I am sorely plagued by that man. He has begun to pester me—”

  Pitney’s brow raised in question, and Shanna managed a blush.

  “He claims to be my husband truly wed and wants me to admit to being his wife.”

  The strapping man was silent, but his countenance had grown thoughtful. He started a small fire and set a kettle on for tea.

  “I have often wondered.” He spoke over his shoulder. “That night after the wedding when we took him from your carriage, he fought unseemingly fierce for a man who had seen a simple bargain met, and in the gaol his words indicated that he had been cheated, that there was something more due him. His reference to you was not the kindest.”

  He faced her, waiting for her answer, and Shanna knew no out. Her face was hot, and she was aware that Pitney’s perusal had grown more pointed.

  “He—he would not agree”—her voice was small and the words came haltingly—“unless I promised”—the last came in a rush as she squeezed her eyes shut in agonized shame—“unless I promised to spend the night with him.”

  Pitney rocked back on the small bench and roared. “And you wonder why the lad pursues you?”

  He trembled the room with another gust of humor. Shanna stared at him a bit confused, seeing no reason for amusement. Finally Pitney quieted and in a more sober vein stated, “Such a good bargain would torture any man, and I cannot fault him for that.” His eyes fell, and he stared at the floor, at once serious and pensive. “And I have been much his villain. Aye, I have brought much pain to him. Yet he has never been less than courteous to me. Of course, a slave has little choice.”

  “You take his side against me?” Shanna asked incredulously.

  Pitney’s tone was flat and expressionless. “I do not know what you plan, but I’ll have no part of it.”

  Shanna’s eyes filled with tears. She sniffed daintily and brought all her wiles into play for the argument. “He has come to me several times and tried to claim his marriage rights.”

  “I cannot fault the man there. He has a need to be a man, and I am not so old that I cannot appreciate his fine choice.”

  Shanna sensed the futility of pleas and grew desperate. “I want him off this island! Tonight! I don’t care how, but if you don’t help me I will find those who will.”

  “Damned and be dogged!” Pitney roared. “I’ll not! And I won’t see you with that sort of deed on your conscience. I’ll go to your father first.”

  “Ruark tried to take me in the stables!” Shanna railed, angry tears brightening the stormy, sea-green depths.

  In open surprise Pitney looked at her sharply.

  “He did!” Shanna cried and then choked on threatening tears. Her lips trembled in shame as she remembered her own responsive passion. “He snatched me down on the hay—”

  Wringing her hands, Shanna turned away, unable to continue. She had given voice to no lie, but she knew the absence of the full truth had twisted the meaning of the part she gave.

  Unknowingly Shanna presented to Pitney confirmation of her claim, for wisps of straw still clung to the tumbled locks. that cascaded over her shoulders. Pitney could well understand Ruark’s infatuation with the girl, but his own rage stirred at the thought of Shanna being mauled—by anyone.

  Shanna managed to choke out, “I hate him. I cannot abide the man. I cannot face him again—ever.” She drew away and spoke in deadly ear
nest. “I want him gone, off this island, tonight.”

  Pitney gave no outward sign that he heard her. He sprinkled tea leaves from a tin into the boiling water and set the pot aside as he pondered what he must do. There had been a ship come into port from the colonies that very morn. He had been down at the docks when the captain and some of his men led away a horse for the Traherns. Appearing nearly on the brig’s heels, another colonial vessel had come in sight, flying the Georgia Company flag. Apparently it was a sister ship to the other, for it anchored some distance out, and only a small dinghy was put ashore with but a hand’s count of men who had retreated to the dramshop to pass the hours. Trahern might search the colonial ship in port for his most valued bondsman, Pitney mused, but if there were enough coins, perhaps the captain of the other vessel might be persuaded to sail his ship off aways where it could not be seen.

  “I will get him away for you,” Pitney finally muttered. He doffed his nightcap and replaced it with a tricorn then slipped his long feet into a pair of brass-buckled shoes. “I’ll not see you abused.”

  He closed the door behind him, and Shanna was left staring at the portal, knowing the victory of winning her way yet feeling no joy in it. Aware that she must stay away from the manor until Pitney concluded his business, she poured herself a cup of tea and sat down at the trestle table to sip the brew, there watching the last of the embers die into blackness. In the empty house, the chiming of the clock seemed to echo Pitney’s words.

  “Abused!”

  Shanna was suddenly struck by the absurdity of it, the sheer ludicrous fallacy of the word. Hysterical laughter spilled from her, and if anyone had heard her, they might have doubted her sanity.

  Ruark was sprawled carelessly across his bed, staring at the canopy above him when hoofbeats sounded on the path outside the cottage. He was halfway to the door when a light rap came against the wood. His mind roared with relief. ‘Twas Shanna, of course. But on flinging open the portal Ruark saw only Pitney’s broad, angry face. Then the night exploded in a billion twinkling lights before darkness descended with the thud of his body against the carpet.